Amnesia
by absinthe sashimi
Summary: They say 'be careful what you wish for.' Santana says she's done with Brittany. A tragic accident that shocks the Glee club to its core- will anyone be able to live with the consequences? Will Santana?
1. Chapter 1

Right, so this is the first fic I've written since my teenage years (I believe my old stories are still floating around somewhere in the wasteland of this website). I've never taken on any of the subject matter that I'm about to deal with here before, so please bear with me. There are so many wonderful Brittana fics out there at the moment, but this story's been stuck in my head so I'm throwing my own into the mix.

This chapter is mostly to set up the story that is to come. Although I have a very set vision of where this story will be going, suggestions are always welcome!

Also, there IS a lot of swearing in this chapter. I've never felt the need to warn against this, but considering the number of 'F Bombs' about to be dropped (just in the first paragraph alone), I figured I should. But really, it's angry/heartbroken Santana- what did you expect? ;)

Hope you enjoy!

...

**CHAPTER ONE**

Santana Lopez is crying. Honest to god fucking tears streaming down her face crying, and Santana Evangeline Lopez does not fucking cry. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ that blonde and her blue eyes and her wheelchair fucking boyfriend. FUCK!

Santana is so angry she could scream, but she doesn't. She _doesn't_. She doesn't because the mere act of opening her mouth to let out any noise at all just hurts too damn much. She's scared of what will come out if she lets it, kind of like sitting in a dingy in front of a dam that's about to burst with nothing but a broken paddle in your hands. Either way, chances are you're fucked. It feels like someone has been pulling at her flesh from the inside and is now rubbing salt into the wounds. The tears are burning a blazing trail down her cheeks, scalding her skin like rivers of burning lava- the salty liquid pooling in the crease of her lips being the only thing she can taste on her tongue.

For once she wishes her mother was around to hold her, stroke her hair, wrap her up in a warm blanket, give her a Bacardi Breezer or some hot chocolate or whatever it is mothers give their kids in these situations- and tell her everything is going to be OK. The one time she wishes she came from a normal family is of course one of the many times she remembers you don't live in a million dollar mansion in Lama frikkin Heights and ever actually get to see your parents. Fuck it! She doesn't need anyone. She's gotten through life alone just dandy until now and she's not about to stop just because of some Lima loser blonde.

But honestly, it would be nice to have someone there to hug her at this moment. Someone who cares that she is in pain, that she is hurting. The tears are still streaming down her face. Honest to god, she's not even trying, they just won't stop coming. From the corner of her eyes she can see a dark salty stain growing on her beige seven hundred gazillion thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets and she can't help her lips from curling up into a twisted satisfied smirk.

...

She can't remember the last time she used her tear ducts this much. Actually, she can. It was when Brit had made her come in the most gentle of ways after they had watched My Best Friend's Wedding in bed. Brittany had suggested they make a similar pact. It was meant to be funny, but when Santana thought about it, really, really thought about it- it just made her sad. She had locked herself in Brit's bathroom and cried for half an hour. This particular moment had come about after the duets fiasco and after Brittany had finally forgiven her. The blonde had never stood her ground so firm with Santana until that fight. It had taken a lot of coaxing and sweet-talking to be allowed back into her bed. When Brittany had unexpectedly lay on top of her that day, resting her head in her favourite position on Santana's chest, the brunette had been so grateful- immediately tangling her fingers in the blonde's hair, smoothing down some stray strands. Even with the weight of Brittany on top of her, Santana's breathing had not felt so easy in weeks as it had at that moment. She wrapped her arms around Brittany in a vice-like grip.

Brittany looked up at her and smiled with knowing eyes. It was one of the blonde's hidden depths that not many people got to know about or see. For all the talking she didn't do with her mouth, her eyes spoke volumes. Brittany had propped herself up on her elbows and leaned down to place a soft kiss on the darker girl's lips. Her curtain of hair fell down- framing Santana's face, letting the familiar scent of oranges catch her nostrils and she smiled into the kiss.

"What?" Brittany looked at her, amusement in her eyes.

"Nothing. Keep kissing." Santana smiled as she tugged on Brittany's top, bringing her lips back within kissing distance.

Santana had bought her that shampoo from Body Shop as a birthday gift when they were ten. At that time, Santana; stout and chubby with a faint mustache on her upper lip- did not run with the popular crowd that Brittany (even then); tall, blonde, gorgeous, absolutely malleable and without a mean bone in her body, ran with. 'The Strawberries' as they called themselves, run with an iron fist by ringleader Becky Anderson- made all members use only strawberry products; lip-gloss, shampoo, body butter, you name it. Santana wouldn't have been part of that group of bimboes even if she could. It was just too fucking retarded even for her ten-year-old self. And strawberry? Seriously? Santana couldn't think of anything more lame and girly if she tried. Yes, please set the female race back a hundred years! Strawberry! It's exactly what anyone would expect!

She made sure to point this out to Brittany, saying that just because Becky fucking Anderson (she'd heard her mother use this particular turn of phrase with 'Layla fucking Palmer,' her father's secretary) liked strawberry didn't mean she needed to as well. Brittany had shrugged as she accepted the orange gift set, but had immediately cut all ties with 'the Strawberries' the day they plastered photos of Santana with a stick-on moustache and a sombrero hat all over the girls' bathroom.

"From now on," she had informed Santana with earnestness in her voice, "I will always strive to be Oranges!"

Really, it was the most ridiculously lucid thing she had ever heard Brittany say, and it kind of became their motto. 'Strive to be Oranges,' they'd say with locked pinkies. She'd often find Brittany demurring after a particularly stupid comment with a wry smile visible on her lips, "Sorry, just having a Strawberry Moment." Again, that self-awareness that many people did not know Brittany possessed. Well kudos to you universe, you've just made Santana Lopez feel like the biggest fucking Strawberry in the world!

Just for the record ( in case anyone is in doubt), Santana made Becky Anderson pay. Oh yes she did! At fourteen, when suddenly she shot up, her boobs grew out, the braces came off, and she found a perfect bleach for that pesky hair on her upper lip, there was not a boy (and she now also suspects- a few girls) who would not walk barefoot over glass to cop a feel. Santana realised at a ripe young age the power of a pretty face. Having also been taught the power of vicious, vicious words courtesy of Becky Anderson (oh the irony), she was resident queen bitch of McKinley Middle School in no time. Meanwhile, 'Becky Former Bimbo' had transferred to a new school by mid-semester. Teach _that _bitch a lesson!

...

Santana has had enough of lying on her bed. Maybe it will hurt a little less if she stands up. She slowly pushes herself into an upright position, dangling her feet over the side of the bed and walks over to her mirror on unsteady feet. She examines her face in the mirror, red and blotchy from all the crying. There are tracks of black mascara streaked across her cheeks, with the foundation she really doesn't need to wear over her flawless skin only left in random patches on her face. Santana can rock most looks, but 'heartbreak' is one even she does not do well. She touches her hand to the heart necklace that has been a permanent fixture around her neck since fourteen. She feels for the inscription on the back- 'B&S BFF.' In a flash of anger she yanks at the chain with surprising force, the silver beads of the necklace scattering all over the floor.

The friction sears the skin on the left hand side of her neck, but Santana doesn't even wince. A small trickle of blood bubbles to the surface of the cut skin and Santana watches it run down her collarbone with a strange sense of satisfaction. She brings her index finger to staunch the slow trickle of blood making its way to the front of her spaghetti straps. No use in spoiling a good shirt. She looks at the red liquid on her finger and brings it to her lips. So this is what heartache tastes like. She looks at herself one more time, the beads on the floor, and her face crumples.

She doubles over as what starts as a small nugget of pain in her stomach explodes and soars through her body, up her throat, blasting in her mouth as she lets out a scream of sheer agony. An invisible foot kicks her in the back of her knees and she is brought to the floor, her body wracked with sobs, gasping for air.

...

She doesn't know how long she's been lying on the floor like this. All she knows is that when she is woken by the loud bleeping of her phone, her room is plunged in darkness, the only source of light being that coming from her cell. She picks up the device, the familiar name _BSP (L)_ flashing across the screen. Her name's been saved that way since middle school. She has an overwhelming urge to delete it, but curiosity gets the best of her. She sees it's the latest of nine messages.

_1. S pleez can we talk? I hate the way we left things. Cum over later?_

_2. Sa-Lo, pleez answr. Nethin, just lemme know ur alive._

_3. Santana, u ok? Pleez get back 2 me!_

She flicks through the next five messages, all voicing various stages of panic, pausing to read the last one.

_S, I've tried calling but u know how bad reception is at my house. I'm really worried. If u dnt answr I'm coming over!_

Santana is furious. _She_ is the one who got shut down after baring her soul. To have Brittany being the one checking up on _her_- is unbearable! The thought of having her come over to stare at her with those puppy dog eyes is more than she can take. She grabs the phone and angrily punches in the reply with shaky hands.

_I've been out. My whole life does not revolve around you you know. Don't come over. I have no interest in seeing you._

She lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, adrenaline pumping through her system. That is by far the meanest text she's ever sent Brittany and she doesn't feel as great as she thought she would. She throws her phone down onto her bed and kicks at her dresser in anger. She yelps as pain shoots through her foot. Half of the contents is blown off the table by the force of her kick. After a few steadying breaths she bends down to pick up some of the collateral damage. Heartbroken she may be, but a slob she is not. She picks up her mother of pearl and ivory hairbrush- a present from her grandmother from when she went to Africa. It's one of the last things she ever gave her and one of Santana's most treasured possessions. She picks it up and feels the twinge of her heartstrings as the sees the strands of blonde hairs intertwined with her own. It takes all of her strength not to hurl the brush at the wall. Instead, she holds it gingerly in her hands, feeling a strand of blonde hair between her fingers.

She feels the tears push behind her eyelids as she takes a steadying breath. She remembers one of the last conversations she had with her grandmother.

"Mija, it's not _who_ you fall in love with that matters- it's that you love them and they love you back."

She remembers this conversation, her twelve-year-old self cradled in her grandmother's embrace as they look at the photographs of the smiling girl on the wall. Their gaze both linger on the same photograph, the one of Selena with her arms thrown around Tash, her lips planting a smiling kiss on her forehead. Nana died that Friday. Heartbreak really_ can_ kill you. The memories of that day, of that week, is something Santana doesn't let herself think about too often because some things are just too fucking painful, you know?

Brittany is the only one who knows about those dark holes Santana sometimes falls into and one of the few who knows how to pull her out of them. Brittany. She hasn't thought of the blonde for a full thirty minutes, but right now, when the pain of past losses threaten to overcome her- she has the most overwhelming urge to call her, to sob into that space in the crook of her neck that is reserved just for her. But she resists. Instead, she heads out onto the empty landing, her footsteps echoing in the empty mansion.

She practically throttles down the steps into the dining room and over to the liquor cabinet. She takes a pin out of her hair and undoes the lock in the blink of an eye, a skill acquired long ago. The bottles in the Lopez house are replaced with such regularity no one ever notices if one goes missing. She pulls out a bottle of Kettel One, the least offensive looking of the bunch. She unscrews the cork and gags at the smell. She pinches her nose and brings the bottle to her lips, taking a deep swig. She splutters as the alcohol hits her throat, regurgitated liquid spilling down her chin and out her nose. Fuck! Despite appearances, Santana is not really the hardened drinker she makes out to be. Sure, she'll always be the one to bring alcohol to the party, but rarely imbibes herself. She feels that after everything that happened with Selena, it would be like disrespectful or something. Whatever. She has no one and she really wants a fucking drink.

She heads into the kitchen and goes to the cupboard to take out the most expensive glass from her mother's crystal glass collection. If you're gonna drink alone, might as well drink in style eh. She pours half a cup of Kettel, going to the fridge to pull out the diet coke which she uses to top off the glass. It goes down easy this time. One glass is quickly followed by two more. She feels wonderfully numb. It's like seeing the world through a Plexiglas cage. But the pain doesn't go away completely. It's just a little duller. She is drunk and walking around alone.

_Alone, alone, alone, alone_.

The word echoes through the empty house. She sways slightly and pumps into a side table. She manages to catch the vase right before it's about to shatter on the floor. Sweet catch! Santana does a little pirouette victory dance.

Her feet take her back up the stairs and she slips on the polished dark oak floor. Shit. She knows her knee will hurt like a bitch in the morning.

Instead of taking the right back to her room, she turns left instead, walking down towards the other end of the hall. Her hands slip on the handle to the door she hasn't opened in ages. The stale air hits her as she enters, choking her. She flicks on the light switch and the bulb casts a dim glow over the room. Some of the posters and photographs have started to peel off the wall, but otherwise the room is exactly the same. She sits down on the bed in the exact same spot as she sat five years ago. She pushes herself into the mattress, wiling it to be her grandmother's lap. She turns her head and stares at the photos hanging on the wall- taking in the eyes, the colour hair, the smile that is so like her own, but her vision is quickly blurred by tears. She heaves for air as agony explodes in her chest.

"Why?" She manages to choke out. "Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY?" She wails into the empty room. Empty house.

She begins to see stars behind her closed eye lids. She feels the prickle on her forehead. She feels the world spinning. Fuck! This is an amusement ride she wants to get off of and _now_! She manages to pull herself upright and launch herself to the bathroom door. Thank _god_ all the rooms in this house are en-suite! She barely has time to open her mouth before the vomit projectiles out. The sweat shines on her forehead and trickles down her spine. Her clammy hands slip on the porcelain bowl as she tries to keep from collapsing.

...

Her stomach hurts from the contractions what feels like hours later when no amount of coaxing her fingers do down her throat will make more vomit come. She slumps against the cistern, exhausted. She takes a deep breath and pushes herself off the floor.

She takes unsteady steps out the bathroom, not glancing at the photos on the wall as she slinks out of the room shamefaced.

She slumps onto the bed when she finally reaches her own bedroom. She picks up her phone. 2:00 AM. No new messages. With what little coordination she has left, she opens her contact list.

_BSP (L)- are you sure you wish to delete this contact?_ She pushes the _'yes'_ button and tosses the phone to the ground without setting the alarm.

'Fuck you.' Is the last thing she thinks before she passes out. 'Fuck you Brittany S. Pierce.'


	2. Chapter 2

First off, I want to thank all of you for the lovely reviews, messages etc. I really appreciate it! And thanks for sticking with this story, which brings me to my second point. I do apologise for the delay in updating this, but a month of no internet access was really not my fault. The other month, well- I blame life for that. So now that I've said my thanks and apologies, I'll stop the rambling and get on with the story.

...

**CHAPTER TWO**

She wakes up at 2:00 PM the next day, groaning. Her head is throbbing like there's a little masochist resident in her brain blasting drum and bass music with the subwoofer turned all the way up. It takes her a while to remember exactly why she's in the state that she's in. She's supposed to be at school, but whatever. Her mother's secretary is well versed in coming up with plausible excuses for her absence whenever the occasion arises.

She groans as she turns over in bed, immediately regretting it as she leans over the side of the bed to vomit all over the floor. False alarm. Nothing but a few pathetic strands of saliva make it out her mouth. She swipes the back of her hand across her lips and chin and wipes it on the bed sheet. Gross.

She gingerly sits up once the stars in front of her eyes fade. She uses her hands to drag her feet over the bed frame and onto the floor. She passed out in yesterday's clothes, the waist of her already tight jeans having made a red dent around her hips. She slowly strips out her way-too-tight outfit layer by layer and pads over to the mirror. An angry red line has formed around her neck and she can see the blue bruises starting to form on her arm and leg. She pokes at it and winces in pain. Screw you Brittany, this is your fault!

In her previous life, Coach Sylvester would have been furious at these marks on her body, but she doesn't have Cheerios anymore. She doesn't have to be flawless. Surprisingly, she finds she doesn't miss the uniform at all. Despite appearances, being popular was never something she was comfortable with. More of a survival mechanism, you know? Once you start acting a certain role, it takes someone kicking the ladder from under you before you can break out of it and start to become who you were meant to be. And who is that for Santana? A lesbian? Lesbian Santana? 'Just' Santana? She has always hated labels, so instead she doesn't let her mind go there, but stares at her naked body reflected in the mirror.

She is hot! Her abs are perfectly toned, not an excess gram of fat to be found anywhere. She turns around to look from over her shoulder. Perfect ass- no cellulite to be found. She looks at how her spine forms a perfect curve down her back, running from between her shoulder blades to just above her tailbone. Brittany used to love running her tongue down it, which would never fail to elicit loud moans of pleasure from the brunette.

'Well Brittany, you should be so lucky to ever get up on this again.' Santana thinks angrily.

Though truth be told, were she to call Santana now, to tell her she made a mistake, that she loved her and wanted to be with her- Santana would take her back in a second. It's fucking pathetic and Santana hates herself for it! She turns away from the mirror disgusted with herself and pulls on her fluffy bathrobe.

She pushes the door of her room open, glancing down the hall to where she went yesterday, filling with shame. So instead she heads down the stairs and into the kitchen. The half-empty bottle of Kettel greets her, threatening her to be sick all over again. She briskly brushes it aside and heads instead over to the Gaggia. Never mind that a girl her age shouldn't' be drinking double shot lattes, but whateves. Without constant parental supervision, she's acquired a taste for the stuff.

A jolt of pain shoots through her again as she sees the bottles of syrup that line the counter. Brittany could never stand to drink her coffee straight, so Santana had bought an extensive range of syrups for her to try. Cinnamon and Hazelnut had become firm favorites depending on her mood. Santana smiles besides herself. She remembers last summer.

...

They had been lying on the loungers by the pool, taking in the sun. Her fair skin burning more easily than Santana's, Brittany had gone inside to get the suntan lotion. Instead she had come out naked with a bottle hidden behind her back. Santana had pushed her Bvlgari shades up on her head where beads of sweat had started to form in the heat, arousal in her eyes as she hungrily let her eyes roam the blonde's bronze limbs glistening in the sun.

"Want me to re-apply your lotion?" The question is innocent enough, but the playfulness in Brittany's voice does little to hide what's really on her mind.

Santana only manages to nod in response, biting down on her lip. She sits up a little straighter in her lounger chair as Brittany saunters over, and with one graceful movement only a dancer could pull off, straddles Santana and slowly lowers herself so that her naked groin is positioned just above Santana's. She swallows the moan rising in her throat and tries to resist the urge to thrust her hips upward.

'Seriously Lopez, get a grip!' She mentally chastises herself.

Brittany is fully aware of the effect she has on the brunette and fails to conceal a satisfied smirk. Santana suspects she's not even trying.

"You ok?" She asks with her best Bambi eyes. Santana knows better.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Santana challenges back.

"You just seem a little restless that's all."

Santana's retort is bitten back as Brittany slowly lowers her upper body against hers, managing to push her naked breasts against Santana's bikini clad ones. She buries her face in Santana's neck and her lips soon find the place on her neck, just below her ear, that makes the brunette moan out loud, properly this time.

"That's what I thought." Brittany's smile greets Santana as she pulls herself up straight. She runs her finger tips slowly up Santana's arms, making her hairs stand on end as they run the length up to her shoulders. Her nails graze over Santana's shoulders, her neck- then take a sharp turn to move down her chest, lightly over her breasts. Every part of the darker girl stiffens and she raises herself to kiss the blonde. She is pushed down by two forceful hands.

"Not. Yet." Brittany's grin is wicked.

"I hate you." Santana manages to push out between already ragged breaths

Brittany leans down as if to kiss her, but pulls away at the last moment, leaving only the lingering sensation of her hot breath on Santana's lips. Instead, sure that Santana will not attempt to move again, she lets her fingers find the string on Santana's bikini.

First she reaches behind her neck to untie the first knot. As she reaches around her back Santana arches her spine to give Brittany better access. The movement pushes her groin into Brittany's, and even the blonde grinds down harder and holds Santana there for a moment before she gently pushes her back down.

Santana smiles knowing Brittany wants it just as much as she does. Santana's bikini is now just lying as a piece of cloth covering her breasts. Brittany hooks a finger under the front string and slowly pulls the fabric off her and tosses it aside. She stares down at Santana with lust and adoration in her eyes. She lets her hands run over the Santana's breasts again, caressing the lower half below the rock-hard nipples in a way she knows Santana loves.

"Alright, now close your eyes." Brittany softly commands.

"Why?" Santana questions, but to be honest- she's having trouble thinking straight.

"Nothing, just close your eyes. It will be better." Santana can hear the slight impatience in her voice and decides to tease her.

"You rubbing lotion on me?"

"I could leave if you want me to." Brittany pushes up on her knees as if about to get off the lounger.

"No, no!" Santana grabs her wrists and pulls her back down. It's a game and they both know how to play it. Brittany wouldn't leave now. Santana can tell from looking between the blonde's legs how turned on she is. The dark stain visible on the front of Santana's turquoise bikini bottoms echoes the sentiment. She's not sure if it's Brittany's wetness or her own, but she doesn't care.

"No, don't leave."

"Then close your eyes." Brittany's hot breath whispers into Santana's ear. This time she complies.

She can feel Brittany's weight shift on top of her as she reaches behind her back to the bottle of lotion. She hears the cap unscrew, and next she feels the viscous liquid hit her chest and start to make its way down her chest. The feeling of the liquid rivers running down her body is supplemented by Brittany's fingers, slowly massaging the oil over her breasts in a steady motion as she's now setting a pace rocking back and forth slowly on top of Santana. This is too much for Santana to lie still. She starts to meet Brittany with her hips every time she grinds forwards.

Brittany dips her face down and Santana feels the rough side of Brittany's tongue in the cleft between her breasts as she licks a trail up to her neck.

"Mmm, you taste good."

Even in her state of clouded arousal Santana opens her eyes to look at Brittany. "Britt, I know it's coconut scented, but are you eating my suntan lotion?"

Brittany only grins in return. Santana looks down on her chest just as Brittany pours some more liquid onto her. She spots the bottle. Syrup!

"Brittany, what the fuck?" She's not angry, just- syrup? Really?

"What, I didn't want it going to waste. I felt bad. Poor mint, it never gets used. Plus you like mint." Brittany's smile is huge and Santana can tell she's trying to choke back laughter.

"Yes, in my VapoRub." Santana is close to laughing herself.

"I'd like to think this is a little better than VapoRub?" Brittany's eyes flash with desire as she returns her attention to Santana's syrup soaked body.

Santana lets out a small moan as Brittany massages the 'lotion' in light circles on her stomach. Santana's pretty sure she's tracing a smiley face into the syrup. Two can play that game. Santana pushes herself up on her elbows, leaning into Brittany. This time the blonde leans forward to meet her lips. They're shiny with syrup, and as their lips touch, Santana tastes the sweet sticky mint on her tongue.

Before Brittany has a chance to know what's going on, Santana is wrestling the bottle from her grasp. Liquid sloshes onto Brittany's back as they battle for its ownership. She squeals. In the ensuing tumble they fall off the lounger chair, ending up side by side on the ground. The bottle somehow empties all over Santana.

"I am so getting you back for this!" Santana, sticky with syrup launches her upper body on top of Brittany's, pinning her to the ground. With her thighs in an iron grip around Brittany's waist, she runs her hands up her own body now dripping with syrup, in a futile attempt to get some of it off. Brittany stops struggling for a moment, watching Santana with arousal in her eyes.

"What, you like this?" Santana quirks and eyebrow with a devilish grin on her face. She starts to run her hands in circles on her abdomen, slowly brining them up to her breasts, up her neck, before biting down enticingly on her own finger, all whilst staring Brittany dead in the eye. She reaches down to take Brittany's hand in her own, guiding it to from her abdomen upwards. Brittany's fingers glide easily over her right breast, sticky with syrup, Santana dictating the pace kneading her hand on top of Britt's.

Before Brittany has time to let out a moan, Santana's free, syrup-covered hand is on her face. She squeals with laughter as she struggles to break free of the brunette, spluttering as drops of syrup land in her mouth. Santana laughs, and continues her sticky assault down Brittany's body.

As her hands travel lower, however, Brittany stops struggling altogether and lays completely still. Her thighs fall open automatically as Santana positions herself lower. With no bikini bottom's on, there is nothing to stop Santana running a finger up Brittany's smooth and now incredibly wet folds. They slide apart easily as Santana uses her index finger to navigate upwards to Brittany's clit.

"Ah!" The blonde groans with pleasure. Santana loves seeing her like this and so presses down a little harder, the sticky syrup glistening on the blonde's clit. Brittany's hips buck, leaving Santana in no doubt what it is she wants. She smiles and slides two fingers tantalizingly slow back down towards her entrance. She stops just short of entering however, feeling Brittany's pulsing heat on her fingers.

"Hand me the bottle." Santana demands suddenly, a look of mild concern on her face.

"What?" Brittany looks up through hooded lids.

"I just need if for a second."

"What? Whoa! No, ok. I know we said we'd try different things, but at least start with a vibrator or something. There are a lot of things I'd do for you, but you're not sticking that-"

Santana bursts out laughing.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind for future trysts." She scans the label. "Actually, I just wanted to check the label, I know you can drink this shit, but don't know what it says about the effects of rubbing syrup on the inside of, you know, your vagina."

They look at each other and burst out laughing.

"You're right. It's perfectly safe to eat." Brittany sits up slowly, reaching out to cup the back of Santana's neck. She kisses her slowly, languidly, letting her tongue lick the syrup around Santana's lips. Their tongues mesh lightly as Brittany's hands tangle in Santana's hair and the brunette closes her eyes relishing Brit's bare breasts against hers, the sticky mint smell, the sun beating down on her back, the slight trickle of sweat running down her forehead.

Brittany slowly starts to push Santana down on the ground. Santana lets her. She reclaims her position, straddling Santana's right thigh. She kneads her knee between Santana's thighs, teasing her clit but not quite hitting it. Santana lets out a frustrated moan. Smiling, Brittany hooks her fingers under Santana's bikini bottoms and pulls down. They are by this point soaked through, half syrup, half arousal. Santana can't get them off fast enough.

Taking the syrup bottle in her hands, Brittany holds it high and lets a small trickle hit between Santana's legs. She moans with pleasure as a few drops land just _there_. Brittany's mouth is on her neck, licking, sucking. The blonde bares her teeth and lets the hard edge graze over Santana's collarbone before biting down and sucking hard.

"Fuck me!" Santana can't hold back anymore, bucking her hips upwards and burying her hands in Brittany's hair, pushing her further into her neck.

She can feel the outline of Brittany's smile around her clavicle.

Brittany pushes out her tongue, and Santana releases her death grip on her hair. Her tongue is lapping slowly up and down her neck, down to her chest, a long languid lick between the cleft of her breasts as one hand comes up to flick her nipple.

Santana lets out another moan.

"Please, Britt you're killing me." Brittany- the only person who can make Santana beg this way.

Brittany moves lower, letting the tip of her tongue brush her ribcage, her abdomen, then Santana feels the hot breath between her legs as Brittany positions herself lower.

Her legs could not possibly go further apart at this point, and she arches her back, pushing her groin up as far as movement allows towards Brittany, practically begging her to finish her off.

Normally Brittany would tease her, would start from her ankles, and work her mouth painfully slow up her legs, her thighs, playfully biting and sucking along the way. This time though, she gives Santana what she wants.

Santana closes her eyes as she feels the hot air of Brittany's ragged breath on her clit. This is replaced by the wet of Brittany's tongue as she licks the syrup from between her folds.

"Holy fuck!" Santana is digging her fingers into Brittany's scalp again.

The persistent lapping of the blonde's tongue is just enough the build up the tension, but not enough for release. Brittany seems to sense that Santana is literally on the verge of spontaneous combustion if things don't speed up and grabs a hold of Santana's thighs, driving her hard down onto her face. Her tongue slides into Santana, and it's all she can do not to pass out right then and there.

"Mmm. Hot." Santana moans. "Ok, hot. Hot. Ouch. Seriously. Hot!"

Brittany comes up between Santana's legs, chin glistening, looking at her with a confused expression.

"Am I hurting you?

"No, it's... Ouch!" Santana rolls over.

Their frantic movements has landed her on a particularly hot patch of poolside tile, burning her back. "It's just the ground. Too hot."

Brittany smiles, stands, and reaches a hand out to Santana. She takes it, giving the blonde a questioning look. Brittany walks backwards towards the pool, Santana in tow. The brunette smiles.

Brittany balances on the edge of the pool and without warning, takes a step in backwards, pulling Santana with her. Thousands of air bubbles wash up their naked bodies in a rush as they plunge into the depths of the cold pool.

The cool of the water and light tickle of the air bubbles against the searing heat of her clit is nearly enough to make Santana come. She breaks the water's surface gasping for air. Brittany is already lounging by the pool ladder, holding on with one hand. Santana smiles at Brittany. She looks so beautiful with her wet tendrils falling around her face. Santana swims closer and closer. Only an inch apart. She leans in and kisses the blonde slowly and snakes an arm around her in the water. Santana can still feel the remnants of sticky syrup on the blonde's back.

She sucks on Brittany's lower lips and gently pushes her tongue in her mouth when she opens it in a moan. She can taste the suntan lotion, the mint syrup and the chlorine on her tongue. She wraps her legs around Brittany's waist, sliding a hand down between Brittany's legs. Even in the water she can feel how wet she is. Brittany mirrors her actions, holding both their weights easily in the water.

They finger each other furiously in the pool. It doesn't take long before both of them come, biting down on each others' shoulders to stifle the moans (her parents might not be home, but she still has neighbors).

Santana still has the bottle of empty syrup hidden in her closet. Inconspicuous enough, she just doesn't feel like she can keep it out in plain sight without needing to go to confession or something.

...

The whirr of the beans in the coffee machine snaps her out of her fantasies. The moment that was so vivid in her mind only seconds ago, now seems a lifetime away. Did it even happen or is she just imagining it? She looks at the two remaining bottles on the counter. Hazelnut and Cinnamon. She grabs them, unscrews the corks and unceremoniously pours the contents down the kitchen sink. She tosses the bottles in the trash. She foregoes the milk today, and instead takes her double shot of espresso straight. She spends the next couple of hours on a caffeine high until she passes out from exhaustion. She only wakes up again when it's dark. Her parents still aren't home.

...

When Santana wakes up the next morning, it's Friday. Well thank fucking god for that! Just one more day and weekend. She has plenty of time this morning to come up with the perfect outfit, having slept most of yesterday, she was up by 6:00 AM, awakened by the heavy spatter of rain on her window. The weather matches Santana's mood perfectly.

She spends time perfecting her makeup, going for smoky eyes and dramatic red lips. 'Jesus.' She thinks to herself. The time she's been spending with Tina lately really must be rubbing off on her. She buttons up her white ruffle shirt and buttons the last button on her purple skinny jeans. She pulls on a jet black pair of Hunter rain boots, and she's out the door, her convertible keys dangling from the other hand. Driving through the rain is a bitch, she can hardly see a thing and twice ends up in the wrong lane. The ride is made marginally better blasting Alanis and 'You Oughta Know' to psyche her up for the day.

...

Walking through the halls, she's got her ultimate Queen Bitch smirk plastered across her face. She pities the fool that fucks with Santana Lopez today! Her heels thunder through the hallway with every step as she heads to her locker to get out her books for English. She's doing ok until she glances to her right to see Brittany and Wheelie bin making their way down the hall in her direction. Brittany looks up and their eyes meet. Brittany quickens the pace and looks like she is about to make her way over to Santana's lockers. Panicked, she slams the locker door shut and heads to English.

She manages to avoid the blonde all day. Sitting away from her in the classes that they share together, engaging herself in conversation with anyone that isn't her. From the quick looks she steals at Brittany she can tell she wants to talk. Always looking when Santana is, her stares burning holes in the back of Santana's head when she's not.

To her credit, Brittany looks about as sad as Santana's ever seen her. But it doesn't give Santana any satisfaction. Brittany is sad because she _chose_ to be. She _chose_ Artie over her. End of. She doesn't fucking get to be sad. She slams her fist on the lab table. Hard.

"Easy there tiger! You ok?" Tina looks up at her with the concern in her eyes visible through her protective goggles.

"Yeah. I'm fine, I'm just... It's..." Santana trails off. She really likes Tina. How much she feels comfortable confiding in her? Well, they haven't known each other that long- 'like her and Brittany.' Her mind involuntarily finishes the train of though.

Instead she gives Tina a tiny smile. "It's nothing. It's just one of those days you know."

"I get you." Tina gives her a sympathetic smile, but doesn't pry further- one thing Santana appreciates about the Asian girl.

"But Santana, maybe you could keep the explosive outbursts on the down low until after chemistry, or we might have, like, an actual explosion." Tina gestures to the beaker she's currently heating over the Bunsen burner and Santana snorts in response. It's the first time she's genuinely laughed all week, and for that, she might just kiss Tina Cohen Chang right there and then. 'Easy now Lopez! One girl at a time.' She checks herself, a faint smile still visible on her lips.

...

Brittany finally corners her after history class. Santana doesn't see her standing there until she closes her locker, and there she is- like in those horror movies when someone's washing their face, they look up as they towel off and suddenly there is Scream holding the knife looking back at them in the mirror reflection or some shit like that.

Santana slams her locker shut without even getting all her books and spins on her heel. She is stopped dead in her tracks when her arm twists painfully and she realizes Britt's latched on to it, preventing her from leaving.

"Seriously! I'm gonna give you two seconds to get your fucking hand off me!"

She can see Brittany flinch having never been on the receiving end of this Santana, but she recovers quickly.

"No! We're going to talk." Brittany's eyes bore directly into Santana's. Her voice too is filled with anger.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm done talking with you." Santana wrenches her hand free from Brittany's grasp and makes to turn around. She's about to storm off, but Brittany's word's haul her back.

"No! It's not fair. You get to do all the talking and when I try, you walk away."

Santana's rage explodes. Fucking 'not fair'?' Fuck that!

"You fucking turned me down to be with Mr. Potato Head, you don't get to call the shots on when or if we talk." Santana thunders.

"Santana, that's not fair." Brittany's initial confidence has deflated. Santana can see the tears shimmering in her eyes, but doesn't care.

"Tell me one thing about this situation that is." Santana lets out a long breath. She's so fucking tired.

"I told you how I feel first, and you shut me down remember?" Brittany is looking her almost pleadingly.

"Yeah, and then I told _you_ how _I_ felt and _you_ shut _me_ down. Remember _that_?" Santana retorts, anger returning full force. Brittany says nothing.

"That's what I thought. I'm done having this conversation with you." She spins on her heel for the second time about to walk off, but Brittany's lightning reflexes kick in again.

"No!" She grips Santana's arm. Tighter this time. "You're not the only one whose hurting."

Santana stares at her disbelievingly for a second. Then, suddenly, all the hurt that's been bubbling up over the past weeks hit her full force.

"You're with, by your own admission, the guy you love. You get to wheel him around school looking so fucking_ happy_," she practically spits out the last word, "and _you're_ the one who's hurting?" Santana's voice cracks involuntarily.

Tears are blurring her vision faster than she can count to three and regain control, her breathing getting harder as she tries to choke back her sobs. In the haze of confusion she feels a strong arm pulling her down the emptying halls, away from the staring faces, and to, by the smell of it- the girls' locker rooms.

Before she knows what's happening, she is being pulled down and she collides with hard wooden benches. She then feels two arms wrap around her and the familiar scent of Brittany and oranges as she is cradled in an embrace, being rocked gently backwards and forwards.

Santana is so angry. She's so angry all she wants is to push the blonde off of her. But she is so tired of fighting. So tired of pretending that all she doesn't want is for Brittany to hold her.

"Why are you doing this to me? What sort of fucked up game is this you're playing?" It comes out in a choked, half-assed whisper.

"Sssh." Brittany is stroking her hair in the way only she can, pressing her lips lightly to the crown of Santana's head. It's too much.

"Please just stop!" She barely hears herself the first time she says it, doesn't even think she really means it. Brittany does nothing but continue stroking her head and back. "Just stop!" It comes out in a screech this time, her voice raw and painful from crying. She's wrenched herself out of Brittany's grasp and jumped to her feet.

Silence.

Santana stands, her chest heaving. Brittany sits looking down at the ground, at anything but Santana. After a while she speaks.

"I don't want to lose you as a friend."

'Friend.' There it is. That fatal word- 'friend.' Whilst that's all she ever thought she wanted out of life before, it's not enough. It's just not possible to be just 'friends.' Not anymore.

"You can't have your cake and eat it too Brittany. That's not how it works. You made your choice, now you've got to live with it._ I've_ got to live with it." Santana's voice cracks,_ again_. And fuck, there come the tears, _again_.

Brittany's own words are now coming out in a choked voice too. Santana can see the panic and desperation in her eyes. It mirrors exactly how she felt that day she told Brittany she… Well, Brittany knows. She's finding it harder and harder to fight the overwhelming desire to rush over and draw Brittany close, hold her tight, not let her go, tell her she'll always be her number one, that it's them against the world as it always has been.

Except, that's not what Brittany did. She got her to open up in a way she knew would be hard for her, and when she got what she wanted, threw it in her face and left her alone. Left her without her lifelong ally- irrevocably shattering her belief in the sanctity of what they had. For all her cynicism, there is one thing Santana believed in. Soul mates. Her and Brittany. She doesn't anymore.

Santana's hands are balling into fist at her sides when Brittany speaks again.

"I just want to be here for you. I know how difficult the next weeks will be for you, with Selena and everything I-"

The mention of her sister's name, it twists the knife painfully further into Santana's heart. "No. You know what Britt- you don't get to bring Selena into this. This is not about her."

"No, maybe it's not." Still, Brittany carries on. "I know April's always the hardest for you though. And I-I want to be there when… Be there when you need me." The tears the blonde has been holding back finally fall. "I miss her too you know. She was like a sister to me too." She's full on crying now.

And now Santana's crying too. And yelling. She doesn't know why.

"Except that she wasn't!"

This is Santana's pain! The one thing that's hers. Used to be Brittany's too. But she chose Artie. She doesn't get to be a part of this anymore. Santana knows she's being selfish, unfair, but she doesn't care.

"You know, if there's anything I could do to have spared you this. If it could just have been me instead I-" Brittany can hardly speak through her sobs.

She doesn't know why, but it gives Santana a twisted sort of pleasure to see her finally break down. Brittany took the one thing Santana needed away from her, maybe she can take this away from Brittany.

"Yeah, well, why couldn't it Britt! I know who I'd rather have with me right now!"

She knows she's gone way too far before she's even finished yelling it. She didn't mean it. She was looking to wound. She's done it.

"Britt, I-" she reaches out for the blonde's hand, but she yanks it away.

"Fuck you Santana." It comes out in a choked whisper and she moves so fast that by the time Santana moves to go after her, all she can see is the door of the locker room slamming shut.

It's the first time she's ever heard Brittany swear. She sits down on the benches, face slumped in her hands. Her heart is hammering in her chest. She feels dizzy from taking too many shallow breaths. She's going to hyperventilate. She forces her breath to steady. She stands up, straightens her back and moves through the breathing exercises her doctor taught her when she started having these attacks. Right after Selena- 'And out.' Santana coaches herself as she lets out a last shuddering breath.

She stands in the locker room breathing in the silence and emptiness around her. She will find Brittany in math class. She'll apologize. She'll get her best friend back. She has to.

...

Except Santana doesn't see Brittany for the rest of school. She doesn't see her in math class. Doesn't see her in home frickin economics, Brittany's favorite class, so when glee club rolls around, Brittany nowhere in sight, Santana's feeling more worried than she can remember feeling in a long time. Brittany doesn't skip school. But then again, she's always had Santana to protect her from people like, well, Santana. She'll go to her house after school, she'll-

"Where is Mr. Schue?" Mercedes' voice derails Santana's train of thought.

"Where is Brittany?" Mike directs the question at Artie first, then Santana. It stings. Artie looks at her for an answer, but Santana glares stubbornly ahead. 'She's your fucking girlfriend.' She thinks and tries to push away the guilt from earlier.

"Maybe we should just leave and pick this up tomorrow." Puck suggests. "Some of us got, you know- _stuff_ to do." He wiggles his eyes suggestively as he grabs Lauren's hand. Gross.

"Guys, just because Mr. Schue is not here doesn't mean we should just throw away this valuable-"

But for once even Rachel stops dead in her tirade at the sight of Mr. Schuester's ashen face. He slows down from the run he barged into the room with. He glances as Artie, then Santana, then the rest of the club.

"Ahm, I don't really," he swallows hard, it looks like he's about to cry. "Ahm," he clears his throat again. "There's been an accident."

Santana feels the blood in her veins freeze. It's déjà vu all over again. She doesn't need to take another look at Mr. Schue to know what's about to go down. 'No. NO!' This isn't happening! Not again! Santana can already feel her trachea constrict. Can't breathe. Her brain is clouding from the lack of oxygen. She's digging her nails into she doesn't know whose thigh, she thinks it might be Mercedes. She feels a hand cover her own. But her brain's five seconds ahead of the words that comes out of Mr. Schue's mouth next.

"It's Brittany. There's been an accident. They don't think she's going to make it."


End file.
